Computer Virus
by Lemon Icee
Summary: Murdock is very sick, and a small scar left by an immunization needle is their only clue as to why. While the team goes on a mission in southern China, they must also unravel the secrets the VA is hiding and save Murdock from a microscopic foe.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Just to clarify my mindset, while writing this honestly I picture new!Hannibal, old!Face, new!BA and a strange, bizarre mix between old and new Murdock, because I love them both so much. Obviously, pick whichever iterations you like best!

Also weirdly, I imagine this hybrid team I've created to be kicking ass and taking names in the early 90s. So...some of the technology may reflect that. Sorry I'm weird.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Murdock winced as he felt the strange stabbing pain briefly attack his insides before disappearing again after a brutal minute. Face gave him a nervous sideways glance from his seat at the wheel of his corvette.

"I knew you weren't feeling alright," he said, forcing his voice into a scolding tone. "What's the matter?"

The pain having subsided, Murdock was free to flash his signature loopy grin. "Nothin's the matter Faceman! In fact the only thing I got is anti-matter," he gave a hoot of laughter, pulling his cap down as they turned onto the freeway.

Face had to yell to be heard.

"Well you don't look good; Hannibal's not going to be pleased."

"We can't all be naturally beautiful like you Facey!" Murdock said, elbowing Face playfully.

"Well that much is true," Face said quietly, smiling despite his worry.

They turned off the freeway and Face was finally able to hear again, as Murdock sang along to a David Bowie song on the radio. They made their way through the grungy LA district in which Hannibal had secured a workshop.

Pulling in front of the nondescript warehouse, Face parked the car and he and Murdock knocked on the door beside the garage.

"Who's there?" came BA's gruff voice from inside.

"Banana!" Murdock yelled back gleefully.

BA threw open the door, glowering.

"You ain't no banana fool, you just nuts."

"Least you ain't calling me fruity," Murdock said, patting BA on the shoulder before rushing in.

Face shrugged and flashed BA a charming smile before disappearing inside after the pilot, not wanting to stick around while BA was angry.

Hannibal was at the far end of the garage, leaning over a table on which one of his famous maps was drawn up. He was studying it, frowning.

"What's the dealio, colonel?" Murdock asked jauntily as he made his way to Hannibal. The older man looked up and smiled at his two newly arrived teammates, gesturing for them to join him.

"Welcome back to civilization captain," Hannibal said, placing a large hand on one of Murdock's bony shoulders. He frowned and took a step back, chewing on the end of his cigar, squaring the pilot up. Murdock looked thin, well thinner than usual. His face looked haggard and his eyes, while exhausted, glinted with fever.

"You look terrible son," he murmured. Murdock shifted uncomfortably, trying to wriggle his way out of Hannibal's appraising gaze, but the Colonel's stare was severe and kept Murdock from moving.

"What happened?" He asked, first to Murdock who looked confused, then to Face, who shook his head.

"I thought he looked pretty bad too, Hannibal," Face said. "He won't say what's wrong though, won't tell me anything."

Hannibal fixed Murdock with a gaze so intense that Face couldn't even look at it. It was a mixture of fierce demand, slight confusion and a paternal love. Murdock broke.

"I…I just been feeling a little under the weather last couple weeks," he mumbled, trying to look anywhere but at Hannibal.

"Weeks?" Hannibal said, alarmed. "That's a long time to be feeling ill, captain."

"I hate doctors," Murdock said, as if in explanation.

"What are the symptoms?" Hannibal asked.

"Er, well," Murdock looked very small and sad, Face thought, like a child being interrogated by the CIA. He was fidgeting, twisting his hands together or else running them through his hair or down his legs.

"It's been kinda, well, just feelin' dizzy sometimes and, kinda nauseous."

"What else?" Hannibal demanded, knowing Murdock was withholding information.

"I thrown up a couple times," Murdock mumbled, kicking his feet. "And," he sighed. "Sometimes I get this weird pain right here," he pointed to the side of his stomach. "Sometimes I get headaches real bad, too."

Murdock's small voice tapered off into silence as BA, Face and Hannibal, still clutching the pilot's shoulders, processed the information. Their friend and teammate was sick, very sick. Even in the low light BA could see that Murdock was rail-thin, and although he was normally lanky now he looked fairly malnourished. His hair, which had previously been wild and shaggy had recently been cut shorter, though it still stuck out at odd angles. He seemed to swim in his usual aviator jacket.

"Well captain," Hannibal said at last. "I think we ought to get you to a doctor, but-"

"No can do sir," Murdock said shakily. "I'm feelin' right as rain right now, so let's get to the mission!" He clapped his hands together. Hannibal shook his head, looking stern.

"No mission for you this time, Murdock," he said gently. "You're grounded, until you get better."

"Aw c'mon!" Murdock moaned, his voice regaining its usual volume and childish tone.

"It's too dangerous for a sick teammate. We've been recruited to recover some groundbreaking scientific documents from the jungles of southern China. Apparently the research group that was working there was run out by a radical Chinese cult because their findings didn't agree with the doctrine. These guys are tough, they fought off Mao and the communist regime, and know the jungles well. They'll have the home field advantage, but we'll have-"

"No way of getting there," Murdock interjected. "Unless you're plannin' on takin' a nice long boat ride. Or are you gonna get a direct flight from Delta to the middle of nowhere?"

Hannibal sighed; he knew Murdock was right.

"Well if you won't go to the doctor, we'll have to take you to Davie," Face said, giving Hannibal a knowing glance. Murdock squirmed. Davie was a client they'd helped nearly a year ago. He was a young man, in his late twenties, who had completed medical school only to end up with an unhealthy addiction to painkillers. After graduation he had gotten in too deep with the drug dealers and had been kidnapped. His father had paid the A-Team to discreetly rescue him, without the family shame of his being arrested for drug use. Davie was still a little unstable, but they'd seen him a couple times since rescuing him for some medical work without risking a hospital visit.

Two hours later, they were in Davie's studio apartment in San Diego, being greeted by the under-the-table practitioner. Davie stood in his boxers and a bathrobe, looking hung over. In his med school days he had been fairly handsome, with dark hair and a unique face due to his half-Korean ethnicity. A few too many years on methamphetamines and a steady diet of McDonalds and beer had robbed him of that handsomeness however, and he now had bloodshot eyes, thinning hair and a growing gut.

"Alright Murdock, sit down and why don't you take off your shirt for me," Davie said, crouching beside the pilot with a cup of coffee in his left hand and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Murdock obliged, removing his overlarge t-shirt to reveal a pale, painfully thin torso. Davie used his stethoscope, tested Murdock's reflexes, blood pressure, pulse. Besides the fever, things seemed to be going smoothly until he paused, glancing at Murdock's left arm.

"Hello, what's this?" he asked no one, lifting Murdock's upper arm to his eyes. He pointed to a spot on the arm where a small, subtle scar was, like a pinprick. The edges of the scar were slightly inflamed, just barely red.

"What is it?" Face asked.

"In my expert opinion," Davie said, trying to look even closer at the abrasion. "It appears to be a mark left after an injection of some kind, a recent one. Judging by the inflammation I'd say it was some kind of immunization." He peered up at Murdock. "Did you get anything like that within the last month or so?"

Murdock shook his head, bewildered.

"Well, yes you did," Davie said matter-of-factly, standing up. "Only you don't know it. And I'd bet that whatever was in that shot is the thing that's making you sick."

"Shot's ain't supposed to make you sick, they supposed to keep you from getting sick," BA said grumpily.

"Well we don't know what kind of shot this was," Davie said with a twisted smile. "I don't want to cause undue suspicions or anything but…" His sadistic grin widened. Face grimaced; he really didn't like coming to Davie, the man was filthy and more certifiably insane than Murdock.

"It's certainly not unheard of for medical experiments to be conducted on mental patients, discreetly, mind."

Murdock wasn't reacting to anything, sitting on the edge of Davie' kitchen counter, staring fixedly at the linoleum floor. The rest of the team however was appalled.

"You don't think really think-" Face started.

"Hey I didn't say anything for sure!" Davie said, throwing his hands up defensively.

"Well can you at least diagnose him, without worrying about the cause for now?" Hannibal asked impatiently.

"Can't say I can, frankly," Davie said, indiscreetly popping a few pills. "The symptoms are vague enough to be anything, and without proper equipment I can't get a blood test or x-ray or what have you. I don't say this often but you boys are going to have to find yourselves a doctor proper, comprende?"

"We're wanted by the feds, you remember," Face said in a patronizing tone. "We can't exactly visit a doctor's office, too much paperwork, we can't-"

Davie interrupted him again.

"Don't go to a doctor in the US then. Plenty of countries offer great health care to tourists, cheap and easy. May I recommend Mexico?"

"Or China," Hannibal said, grinning as he popped a cigar in his mouth.

"Don't know much about their healthcare system," Davie said skeptically.

"Well they're on the way," Hannibal said, and he clapped Davie on the back. "Thanks for the help son."

"Thanks for the payment, Colonel," Davie said pointedly.

"Not like you exactly did anything," said Face.

"Well I did get out of bed, that's an automatic $50 transaction fee," Davie said, sticking his hand out expectantly. Begrudgingly, Face extracted the cash and handed it over.

"Pleasure as always, boys!" Davie said with a grin. "Oh wait! Before you go, lemme give you some of these," he dashed into his kitchen and they heard him rummaging through drawers. He came back holding a small blue pill bottle. He clapped it into Murdock's hand.

"These are for the fever; you're going to want to keep that in check." He said. "Take one every six hours or so, no more, unless you want to have a really good time." He gave Murdock a brief smile and the pilot noticed he was missing several teeth.

"Um, thanks," Murdock said, and he replaced his shirt as the team prepared to leave.

"Those'll run you about $35, by the way," Davie said, still smiling but with a steely stare.

Face grumbled as he gave Davie more money and got out of the dingy apartment as quickly as possible.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **This one is less Murdock-centered, sorry! But we're getting somewhere at least. Wow airport security sure was lax in the 90s!

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Face and Murdock crouched behind a luggage cart wearing identical tarmac uniforms. They were positioned on the runway of LAX, trying to decide which plane to lift. Normally they would have stolen a military plane, but the president was speaking at the base that day and security was too tight even for the A-Team. Commercial jets were the only other planes that could fly such a long distance without refueling.

Murdock seemed to be feeling better, and although he still looked pale to Face his energy was high.

"Let's get that one Face!" He said, pointing to a sleek SAS plane. The dreary face of some famous Norwegian poet stared back at them from the wing.

"Why that one? This one's closer," Face gestured to the Alaskan Airlines jet that was unboarding right before them.

"Aw Faceman SAS is just a much nicer airline, you of all people ought to recognize the value of amenities," said Murdock with a grin.

Face grimaced; it was nighttime and the cold night air was freezing him over.

"Let's just get the first one that empties out, I'm tired of waiting around."

The first jet to unload all this passengers was a clunky looking Delta. Hannibal, who had been waiting in the airport, radioed Face that the plane was finally empty, and at his words Face and Murdock scrambled across the airfield to get to it.

"Excuse us please!" Face called up, climbing up the stairs leading up to the plane's cabin. "We need to speak to the crew briefly, my name is Roger Harrison with the department of aviation maintenance," he flashed a fake badge at the bewildered crew. "This here is my colleague, Smitty Locke," he gestured to Murdock who was wearing a fake moustache.

"What's the matter?" The pilot demanded, emerging from the cockpit.

"This is flight 4208 flying direct from Atlanta, is it not?" Face asked, citing the information Hannibal had given him.

"Yeah," the pilot said hesitantly.

"We have recently received word from the command center in Atlanta that a possible contaminant was present in the airport and may have been exposed to citizens within the building from the hours of 9am Tuesday morning all the way up til about 4 hours ago when the contaminant was identified."

"What kind of contaminant?" Asked the copilot.

"It's a doozey of a virus," Murdock said with wide eyes. "It's a new strain of flu; seems that the swine flu and the bird flu have been _interbreeding_," he cringed with disgust and horror. "Now we got ourselves a possible epidemic. They're callin' it the Flying Pig Flu." He nodded matter-of-factly. Face had to use all his willpower to keep from laughing.

"What we need to do, ladies and gentlemen if you'd be so kind," said Face as the crew's eyes widened. "Is detox the plane for a couple of hours, fumigate you know. Passengers on your next flight have been notified of the delay, and you all can take a nice little break, have some real food in the airport if you like." Face flashed his charming smile and ushered the crew out of the plane before donning a face mask. Murdock followed suit. The two scammers waved goodbye to the crew, who were all glancing back nervously.

"If you start to feel a bit feverish, check yourself into quarantine immediately!" Face yelled out, and all the stewardesses whipped their hands to their foreheads.

"Nice going Faceman," Murdock said, grinning as he and Face prepped the plane. Hannibal joined them soon, having changed into a crew uniform in one of the airport men's rooms. He was pushing an unconscious BA in a wheelchair and whistling a tune.

"Think this bird'll be up for the trek?" Hannibal asked as he and Face eased BA's hulking form into one of the first class seats.

"She's all fueled up and ready for a hasty take-off, Colonel," Murdock called from the captain's seat. Hannibal positioned himself in the copilot's seat and Face stood behind the two as Murdock started the jet.

As the plane began to taxi, Face noticed angry security guards rushing towards them on the tarmac.

"Guess that story didn't last long," he muttered as slowly they began to speed up and finally the familiar weightless feeling of ascent hit him. He stared below at the twinkling lights of LA before they passed beyond it and he could see only the blackness of the ocean.

* * *

Murdock hadn't taken any of Davie's pills, naturally. He had been feeling better for a little while, but most of his energy had been mustered with great effort and now, sitting at ease at the pilot's seat with nothing but a long stretch of water ahead, his body began alerting him to the various things that were wrong with it. _Stupid body,_ he thought, feeling the cold sweat bead on his forehead again. _After all I do for it, it goes and betrays me like this. Course I do tend to run it through the ringer awful bad…_he lost himself in thoughts of remorse for all the unfair things he'd put his body through: POW camps, bullet wounds and one excruciating Jane Fonda work-out to name a few.

"You alright, captain?" Hannibal asked, breaking the hour-long silence. Murdock hastily wiped his forehead, hoping Hannibal hadn't really noticed a change in him. He didn't make the decision consciously, but in situations like this one some alien part of his brain took over and forced him to use his trademark coping mechanism.

"I don't think I am, Hannibal," he said quietly. Slowly he turned his head to face the Colonel, eyes wide. "Hannibal, I think I'm a robot."

Hannibal grinned, but put a hand to Murdock's forehead anyway.

"Well for a robot you sure have a high fever," he said cautiously, his smile fading.

"That's just my hard drive, I keep it up there," he knocked his head. "It's working overtime, spinning like crazy."

"Interesting choice of words," Hannibal said, cocking an eyebrow. "Why don't you go er, power down for a few hours Murdock, I'll make sure we keep on course."

"You may refer to me by my mechanical name, V799Mur," Murdock said haughtily, but followed Hannibal's advice and crept into the cabin. There Face was sleeping in the row behind the unconscious BA. Murdock crept quietly to the furthest back row in first class, pulling a thin blanket over him and trying to ignore the increasingly agonizing pains wracking his mainframe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Thanks for all the kind reviews! I appreciate it C: Also a minor disclaimer here: I know nothing about the following: China, jungles, planes, military stuff, science or disease. So...most of what I write I made up and is complete bull. With that in mind, have fun!

* * *

Chapter 3

Face stirred from a restless sleep, blinking into consciousness as a stream of new daylight hit his eyelids. He hated sleeping on planes, and he remembered the magnitude of his hatred suddenly as his whole body ached upon sitting up. Placing a hand on his lower back and feeling about 70 years old, he pried himself out of the seat and cracked every joint in his body.

Now standing, he noticed Murdock passed out on the seats behind him, one arm dangling over the edge. Quietly, Face crept over to the sleeping pilot and felt his forehead, which was still very hot. _Clearly_, he thought, _Davie is a quack. I knew it._ As Face turned to make sure that someone was actually flying the plane, he heard Murdock utter a low moan and roll onto his back, shivering. Face removed his jacket and placed it over the pilot's thin frame before trotting down the aisle to the cockpit.

"He's not doing much better," Face said as he entered. Hannibal was leaning on his hand, staring out the windshield looking extremely bored.

"I know," Hannibal said, swallowing the last word with a yawn. "But I'm not too worried right now. He thinks he's a robot," Hannibal swiveled to give Face a bemused look.

"And you're not worried?" Face asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Nope," Hannibal stuck a cigar in his mouth. "Cause if he's got enough energy to think up another persona, I'd say he's doing alright."

"Hannibal I think that ah…talent, comes naturally to him," Face seated himself in the vacant pilot's seat. "He's back there shivering from fever, and those meds Davie gave him don't seem to have done diddly."

"Well knowing Murdock, he probably didn't take them," Hannibal said with a shrug. "You know how he feels about medication. But why don't you get a wet cloth and put it on his forehead. We're about two hours out, only a half hour from mainland China. He won't have to hold out too long."

Face did as instructed, but almost as soon as he'd placed the washcloth on his friend's warm brow he heard an ear-splitting crack and the entire plane gave a violent lurch.

Murdock tumbled from his makeshift bed and sprung up to a standing position, all in the moment that it took Face to regain his balance.

"What's goin' on?" He asked groggily, his body tense.

"I should be asking you!" Face yelled as more noise flooded the cabin in a swelling cacophony. "Something is wrong with the plane!"

Murdock gave a curt nod and pushed past Face towards the cockpit, wincing with every movement. Face ran to one of the windows but could see nothing beyond a thick veil of wispy, smoggy cloud.

Hannibal was struggling with the controls, trying to fly by instinct which would eventually, Murdock saw, kill them all.

Murdock felt distantly a sudden stabbing pain in his chest, but removed it from his plane of consciousness immediately. He grabbed the controls from the desperate Colonel and sat himself down in the adjacent seat, his hands moving across the dashboard at lightning speed.

"What happened, Hannibal?" He asked as he slipped the headphones on.

"I'm not sure, everything I pick up on the radio is in Mandarin – "

Murdock held up a finger to silence the older man as he listened intently to the chatter in his ears. It was indeed in Mandarin, odd considering they were clearly an American plane. Whoever was sending these messages did not intend to be interpreted. But they didn't know that the pilot of this American plane spoke nearly fluent Mandarin, and that in situations of great pressure his fluency increased, a phenomenon his psychiatrist had never been able to aptly explain to him.

"Enemy aircraft flying in hostile territory," said the voice in rapid fire Chinese. "Repeat, shoot to kill," Murdock whipped off the headphones and thrust his arms forward, sending the plane in a dizzying descent as above them a missile imploded, just barely nicking the tail.

"What is going on Captain?" Hannibal yelled as the rush of air hitting the nose of the plane deafened him. Face staggered in just in time to hear the response.

"You remember all those times you asked me that, Colonel, and I always said 'We're gonna crash!' and then always we ended up just fine?"

Face nodded vigorously and started to speak but Murdock cut him off.

"Well I wouldn't want you to misunderstand me now fellas, so _believe me_ when I say that we _are_ going to crash, and it ain't going to be pretty, so hold on tight."

Hannibal stared wide-eyed at Murdock.

"You're saying there's _nothing_ you can do?" He asked, because the pilot didn't look like he was trying.

"There's some things," Murdock said as the ground quickly approached, his eyes still feverishly focused on the controls. "But I think I really ought not to, cause frankly when this is over," He swallowed nervously. "We gotta look like we're all goners or they're just gonna blow us to smithereens."

"WHAT!" Face was yelling, strapping himself tightly into the first row of cabin seats, using all three seatbelts. "MURDOCK YOU ARE FUCKING INSANE!"

"The trick here, Faceman," Murdock called back. "Is to crash and burn _just enough_ to be convincingly dead, but not _so much_ as to be for real dead." He turned back and grinned at the con man, who was saying some final prayers he had thought he'd forgotten from the orphanage.

Murdock turned to Hannibal, his smile fading. They were maybe ten seconds from impact.

"Colonel?" He asked, his eyes searching.

"I've never doubted you captain," Hannibal said, a firmness somehow edging his quavering voice. "I don't doubt you now." Strapping himself in as tight as could be, Hannibal placed a hand on Murdock's shoulder briefly before withdrawing it as the pilot did his final maneuver.

It was a fancy trick. The plane had nosedived almost to the forest floor, but at the last moment, with remarkable grace for a commercial jet, Murdock righted it to a 30-degree angle where it skidded nose first into the ground, tearing up trees and earth beneath it. Just as the front end hit the ground however, Murdock thrust the engines powerfully and briefly, and the result was the plane slowly but surely flipping upside-down as its tail end's velocity exceeded the front's. Hannibal's last view before losing consciousness was Murdock, still clutching the controls and manipulating the plane as shards of glass rained down on them both. The sound of twisting metal and disturbed jungle filled his ears as the sudden change in pressure and shock of impact sent him spiraling into darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Sorry if this one's a bit slow, hope you're enjoying anyway! Thanks for the reviews, please let me know what you think!

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Face woke up first. Discovering upon waking that he was not in fact a tasty pancake treat for Chinese jungle animals thrilled him momentarily. Then he realized that instead he was a severely head-rushed man dangling upside-down from the smoking remains of a jet airplane, which put a damper on his spirits. His brain was literally throbbing, and his face (though he couldn't see it, he just knew) was unattractively and dangerously red. With one hand he gripped the only stable thing he could reach, which was the leg of his own chair, and with the other he grappled with the maze-like trifecta of seatbelts he'd strapped across himself. It took him more than a minute to undo each one, the thundering beat of his blood gushing through his head sounding like war drums.

Finally he freed himself and fell suddenly down, jerking his arm painfully as he tried to keep himself from falling to the wreckage below. He managed to get his other hand around the chair leg, and waited for his numb body to receive proper circulation again before deciding what to do next.

BA was in much better shape beside him. The larger man had been strapped to all three seats in a row horizontally, so at least his head didn't resemble a tomato. He appeared not even to have woken, though Face assumed if he had at any point during the crash he would have immediately passed out again, so it was tough to tell.

Then he tried searching for Murdock or Hannibal. In the smoky remains it was difficult to see further than a couple of feet, but slowly he felt his way forward, inching along the steel bar of his chair until he met another chair in front of him and took a hold of that next. Grateful and a little surprised at the quality of airline construction, he made his way forward towards the cockpit.

He felt a thrill of dread as he saw the state of the nose of the plane. It was smashed nearly completely, and any room where two men had once been was entirely consumed by twisted metal. The dashboard and seats were torn and missing, and all that seemed to be left of it was broken glass and distorted steel. Face peered below but saw nothing but hazy darkness. He took a deep breath.

He let go.

Face felt himself falling through nothingness for a long time, until finally his legs made contact with the ground and he collapsed at the force of the fall. The wind was knocked out of him entirely as he coughed, holding onto his stomach, trying to breath. His legs felt numb, but as soon as feeling returned his left ankle screamed in pain.

"Fuck," he muttered, still unable to catch his breath. He peered around, but saw no one.

"Hannibal!" he shouted once he was able to resume respiration. "Murdock!" He picked himself up and limped around, trying to ignore what was clearly a broken ankle. He shoved aside debris, overturned huge plates of sheet metal, and found no sign of his teammates.

He was getting desperate now, his breathing coming in quick gasps as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Hannibal!"

"Here!" A voice came from the jungle to Face's left, sounding distant but strong. It was Hannibal. A sudden burst of adrenaline allowed Face to sprint off towards the sound, hopping over logs and dodging massive trees. Finally he saw a beautiful sight: sitting in the midst of the forest, the two conjoined seats of the cockpit ejected from the plane, lying sideways on the ground with a parachute trailing behind them.

At first glance Face thought they must be fine, all was well. But he realized as he approached that they had ejected far too late for a parachute to do any good. He rushed over to Hannibal, who was sitting stiffly in his chair, and Murdock, who was slumped sideways, his whole body leaning on Hannibal. Both their seatbelts appeared to have held, but they were sporting very nasty bruises, and Face spied a trickle of blood dripping from Murdock's mouth.

"We're alright," Hannibal said weakly, and to Face's great relief Murdock opened his eyes, peering up at him blearily.

Face rushed to undo their straps, but Hannibal stopped him.

"I pulled my shoulder out of my socket," Hannibal said grimly. "And I think Murdock cracked a few ribs. But somehow we managed to eject before the nose collapsed, so I guess we're lucky after all." He spared a humorless smile and winced as Face took hold of his arm.

"On three," Face said. "One," and with that he shoved Hannibal's arm back into its place with a sickening pop. All Hannibal uttered was an airy "Ouh," before relaxing, closing his eyes in pain.

"You hurt your leg, Faceman?" Murdock mumbled, wincing as he tried to pull himself up into a proper sitting position.

"Keep still," Face said. "I just twisted my ankle, nothing to worry about. BA's doing fine too, hasn't even woken up. I don't know how we're going to get him down though." Face knelt beside Murdock, looking at the immense bruise on his forehead which seemed to have broken the skin. Suddenly the pilot began coughing terribly, hacking flecks of blood all over the ground.

"Jesus!" Face said, stepping back, then forward again to rub Murdock gently on the back. His stomach sank though; coughing blood meant internal bleeding, and he had no idea how to fix that short of a hospital visit.

Eventually the coughing fit subsided and Murdock, exhausted, lay his head down on the Colonel's shoulder and passed out. Hannibal opened his eyes again, and glanced up at the unconscious younger man.

"He's bleeding internally," Face said quietly as Hannibal wiped some of the red stuff off of Murdock's face with his handkerchief.

"Maybe," Hannibal said, but didn't expand on that train of thought.

Hannibal grabbed hold of Murdock's shoulders and gestured for Face to unbuckle him. The pilot's torso twisted as the bottom half of his body sank to the ground, lowered gently by Face. Hannibal lowered Murdock's head softly onto the dirt before unbuckling himself and brushing himself off.

Face knelt beside Murdock, breathing heavily. He hadn't had any time to register just how bizarre a situation they were in, or to wonder why they had been shot from the sky without so much as a warning.

Hannibal had taken out a cigar and begun chewing on the end of it contemplatively.

"What's the plan?" Face asked, not sure if he should be angry or scared, and settling for a little of both.

"Well," Hannibal sighed. "We need some recon. We have no idea where we are. And some supplies. Go see if you can wake BA up, and then I want you to run a perimeter around the area, one kilometer radius. Tell BA to search for supplies in the wreckage."

Face was disgruntled.

"And what will _you_ be doing?" He asked in a brattier voice than he'd really intended.

"I'm going to make us a shelter," Hannibal responded coolly. "And make sure our pilot is comfortable."

Face nodded, undirected anger still bubbling through him as he set off to scout the area, his ankle screaming in protest.

Hannibal knelt by Murdock and put his hand to his chest, feeling the pilot's breath rattling unsettlingly. The colonel frowned.

* * *

Two hours later, Face returned to the decent campsite Hannibal and BA had constructed.

"There's nothing out there Hannibal," he said, lowering himself down onto one of the ejected seats, wincing. "Nothing but weird bugs and lots of mud." He looked morosely at his ruined shoes.

"Well that's no good," Hannibal said as he and BA lifted a sheet metal roof onto their make-shift shack. "I think we have a semi-serious problem on our hands."

"Which one are you referring to?" Face asked sarcastically. "I see several, actually."

"Murdock has tuberculosis," Hannibal said plainly. "And we've all been around him enough to pretty much guarantee we have it too, although it's latent."

"Murdock's got TB?" BA asked in shock, glancing down at the sleeping pilot. "How come none of his crazy-man doctors noticed?"

Face was remembering what Davie had said. A chill ran down his spine as he spoke.

"What if…that shot Davie mentioned? You don't think, Hannibal…?"

"I don't know what to think about it Face," Hannibal said grimly. "But if Murdock didn't know about it you can bet that whatever that injection was, it wasn't a cure. For all we know, Lynch could have done it knowing it would spread to all of us and we'd need to seek medical help."

BA gave a snarl of anger and Face opened his mouth in disbelief.

"For right now, all I want to do is find a city or a town where we can patch ourselves up." Hannibal sighed. "Let's bring him inside."

Face found himself reluctant to touch Murdock. He hated it, but he was sickened by the thought that being in the proximity of his friend could kill him. But one stern look from the Colonel was enough to force himself to help BA carry the sick pilot inside the shack. The four men slept as rain began to fall like bullets outside, hammering a noisy staccato on the metal roof above.


	5. Annoying Author's Note

**Annoying Author's Note Chapter**

Hey sorry for this annoying author's note-only chapter! I just thought I'd let you guys know that I am SUPER SUPER SORRY for not updating in ages; I have been INSANELY busy with school and now I have a job too so it's ridiculous, I am always tired. I'm really hoping to find some time for this story soon, and I have tons of ideas of where it's going to go, so no worries, IT WILL BE COMPLETED. It just might take a little while. Again, super sorry for everything, I appreciate your patience!

Much love!

Lemonicee


	6. Chapter 5

**Author's Note**: UGH you guys this is not a good chapter AT ALL I am so sorry. The writing is terrible, it makes no sense, it's boring, BUT it's getting us over a big hump, and hopefully after this things will start to pick up. Intrigue and mystery and action and adventure. Seriously, I promise the rest of the story will not be this caliber of crap.

* * *

CHAPTER 5

The next day was a long, grueling slog. To everyone's relief, Murdock awoke in the morning seeming much the same as always; although he had been battered badly by the crash, he was awake and alert as ever, much to BA's annoyance. The four men were soaked to the bone within the first five minutes of their trek through the jungle, as the rains continued to pour down in an unrelenting torrent.

They were a wreck by the time they made it to a main road, a remarkable find in the midst of such a dense jungle. Hannibal, Face and Murdock were limping with various injuries, and although he seemed to be more normal than the day before, the pilot was still coughing terribly, hacking coughs which made the rest of the team flinch every time.

They followed the road for miles, dragging their feet in exhausted desperation. Each man was carrying a make-shift sack of useful items, weighing them down but too precious to drop. Not seeing any cars concerned them, but eventually they spotted a street sign.

"Damn, it's in Chinese!" BA moaned, unable to decipher the characters on the sign.

"Murdock, can you read it?" Hannibal asked, but the captain was doubled over in a coughing fit, the rain pouring down his hair and dripping over his face, mixing with the blood he was hacking up.

Face ran over to him, sloshing around in his suit, and placed a comforting hand on his back.

"Let's just keep going Hannibal; we need to get to civilization soon. Whatever it says, it means there's a city along this road _somewhere_."

Hannibal nodded, frustrated that he couldn't light a cigar in this downpour.

Once Murdock recovered, they set off again.

"Jeez Colonel, I can't even read that," Murdock yelled, his voice sounding raspy as he passed the sign. "My Chinese is much more colloquial, you know. I don't know how to read or write it; did you know they got over 2000 characters?" Murdock laughed. "Now _that's_ crazy."

"Shut up fool, stop wasting your strength on jibber-jabber," BA said, giving Murdock a light shove. The pilot laughed as he stumbled forward.

"If I were makin' up a language it sure as hell wouldn't have 2000 characters! Maybe 7 really pretty ones, and a couple ugly ones to make the others look prettier," He grinned at his teammates.

"Kind of like why I keep you guys around," Face said with a smile.

Before Hannibal could respond with a witty retort, the sound of a truck approaching rumbled over the torrent of rain. The team turned around to see a small semi barreling down the highway.

All four men began waving their arms and shouting, but it was hopeless; no driver could see them in this storm. As the truck approached, Hannibal's eyes glinted with a familiar spark.

"Guys, I got an idea!" He shouted, and he tore open his cloth sack and rummaged through it. He produced a thin steel rope salvaged from the plane. Quickly, he tied the rope tightly to the road sign, and formed a lasso with the other end.

"Hannibal you're nuts!" Face yelled, watching as his boss prepared to lasso the speeding vehicle. "You'll never make that throw!"

"You're right!" Hannibal said with a grin. "You're a much better aim Face!" He tossed the con man the steel wire, and the truck neared.

Face had no idea where to throw the rope, but with a desperate instinct he didn't know he possessed he focused his attention on the details of the semi. Antennae would break, the cab was too big…and then he saw the large knob sticking up from the side of the truck, one used to attach the cab to the cargo. It would be tricky, hell it would be impossible, but Face leapt forward and threw with his whole concentration.

It was a miraculous thing. The wire caught the knob, tightening immediately around it as it was pulled forward, and with a terrible crack the road sign snapped off. The driver swerved dangerously, his momentum thrown off, and skidded to a halt.

The team jogged forward and swiftly opened the back of the truck, leapt in and closed it again before the driver could find them and express his anger.

Dripping wet and in a suddenly very dark, very quiet space, Face moaned.

"Was that entirely necessary?"

"Well," Hannibal said, finally lighting a cigar. "How else would we have stopped him without breaking the truck?"

Face sighed. "I can think of a half a dozen ways, you just like to be overzealous."

"Look at it this way, at least-" Hannibal's next remark was cut off by a sudden violent coughing fit from Murdock. In the low, nearly non-existent light, Hannibal could make out the shivering form of his captain.

"BA," Hannibal said, but didn't need to elaborate. The big man wrapped Murdock up in his arms to warm him, feeling the rattling of the pilot's lungs as he did so. He wasn't afraid of catching the damn disease anymore; helping his friend was more important.

"He's burning up, Hannibal," BA said when Murdock had finally drifted into a restless doze. "We better hope there's a hospital wherever we're going."

"We better hope where we're going isn't some slaughter house," Face said, eyeing the cargo boxes suspiciously. They were stamped with Chinese characters he couldn't understand, but something in the space smelled badly of livestock.

The truck lurched forward again, apparently having freed itself from its strange tag-along sign at last, and the team huddled in silence as they made their way to an unknown destination.

* * *

Murdock wasn't really sleeping, but he had his eyes closed and was laying down on the floor of the dark truck, using his jacket as a pillow. The rumble of the engine was relaxing, but he felt sick and achy in every bone of his body, and sleep didn't come easily. Instead he strained his ears, trying to hear what the rest of the team were talking about.

_They're talking about me_. He thought glumly, although he couldn't hear their low whispers clearly. _I must have something really wrong with me_. He groaned quietly, willing the daggers to remove themselves from his lungs, and the jackhammer from his head, and the pins from every inch of his skin.

The truck barreled along for a long time, and eventually the whispers of his friends stopped. He assumed they were sleeping, all except Hannibal who was probably planning something. For the first time in his life, Murdock hoped it didn't have to do with flying. He did not trust himself with a throttle just then.

Suddenly the truck slowed to a halt. The rain that had been soaking them hours before still drummed on the top of the container.

"Murdock," Face's voice came out of the darkness gently. "Wake up," he shook Murdock's shoulders very softly, though the pilot had never been asleep. But the movement caused him to erupt in a coughing fit again and Face staggered back as if he were terrified of catching something. Which he probably was, Murdock thought sadly. Hannibal however barged over and took the pilot by the arm, hauling him up and helping him hobble behind some crates where BA was hiding. They crouched low, Murdock willing his coughing to stop, as they waited for the truck driver to open his container. Finally, dislodging a sickeningly large ball of something from his lungs, Murdock managed to swallow his coughs and come to silence just in time.

The door opened, and two men spoke rapid Mandarin while the daylight illuminated everything. Some boxes were shifted, and the men seemed to be carrying them somewhere. The team took this opportunity to dash out of the truck and emerge onto the street of a busy city center.

They were disoriented, blinded in the suddenly daylight (although clouds and rain darkened the scene slightly) and stuck out like sore thumbs in the sea of Chinese men, women and children going about their business. Murdock was suppressing his coughs painfully, trying hard to keep up with his team as they weaved through the crowds, putting some distance between them and the truck.

"Let's figure out where the nearest hospital is," Hannibal said quietly to Face as they shoved through throngs of poor-looking people. "Then we can try to find out where we are, and how to get to the mission." Face nodded, and looked around.

"Hannibal," he said, nodding towards a store that seemed to be geared towards tourists. "They might speak English."

Hannibal nodded and he led BA and Murdock to the gift shop, keeping an eye on the pilot whose energy seemed to be fading fast.


End file.
